Combat Alley (2007)

by Jack - Seals 06 Terral

  It was easy to prey on them because they lived in a farflung system of small villages and it was only a matter of picking them off one at a time. It was also a good place to get women. Most of these stolen females, after fighting fiercely to protect their honor, were beaten into submission and ravaged by the Russians. A few died from the mistreatment and a couple committed suicide, though this was rare. According to Pashtun beliefs, any person who killed himself would be damned for an eternity of committing and recommitting the act. However, a kidnapped Pashtun woman could not return to her people without having to suffer being murdered in the name of honor by the men of her family. Therefore, if she wanted to live, she would have to become an infidel's woman. Surprisingly, some lasting and tender relationships developed between these women and the rough exconvicts. The children of these unions offered a future to this community of violence and banditry.

  Yarkov and his men went down into the town of Dolirod to make purchases with the stolen cash or to sell or barter looted goods. And there was also that bordello available for those who had yet to get women. The ex-convicts were welcomed by the eager shop owners who had plenty of merchandise to sell them. There were weapons, military equipment, saddles, clothing, miscellaneous items, and presents to give the women waiting up in the mountains.

  It was during one of the visits that Yarkov struck up a conversation with a money changer while trading in stolen currency for Tajik somonis. The subject of the conversation was the amount and variation of cash among the villagers down on the Pranistay Steppes.

  It was at this time that Luka Yarkov learned about the opium poppy trade.

  .

  SHELOR FIELD, AFGHANISTAN

  3 OCTOBER

  0915 HOURS

  BRANNIGAN'S Brigands walked down the ramp of the USAF Pave Low helicopter and filed into the hangar behind Senior Chief Petty Officer Buford Dawkins. This was the large, empty structure they always used as a combination barracks and headquarters during stays at the Air Force facility.

  The detachment officers Lieutenant Bill Brannigan, Lieutenant (JG) Jim Cruiser, and Ensign Orlando Taylor were gathered off to one side with two staff officers well known by the Brigands. These were Commander Thomas Carey and Lieutenant Commander Ernest Berringer. There were four other men present: an officer in the uniform of the Pakistani Army, a dark youngster wearing native Pashtun garb, and a short, pudgy fellow with a tall, slim man standing beside him. This latter pair was dressed in khaki safari getups.

  Senior Chief Dawkins raised his hand to bring the column to a halt. Alright! Y'all got your favorite places to bed down, so turn to. Don't bother to unroll your mattresses. Just dump ever'thing on the deck and get right back here. Go to it!

  The SEALs went over to one side of the building where they normally slept during their frequent visits. They were surprised to see a familiar figure already there. This was Tiny Burke, a huge, muscular Tennessean who had been with the detachment during Operation Battleline a few weeks earlier. He grinned at them, speaking in his drawl. It's right good to see y'all again.

  Doug MacTavish, from North Carolina, was happy to see his fellow southerner. How'd you manage to get back here, Tiny?

  They was fixing to ship me to Iraq when a yeoman come up and said there was orders sending me straight back to Brannigan's Brigands, he explained. They said I was taking somebody's place.

  That was Mike Assad, Doug said. He was hauled away somewhere aboard a chopper.

  Well, here I am again then, Tiny said happily.

  Everybody quickly grounded their gear, maintaining assault section and fire team integrity to keep the equipment arranged in an orderly manner. Then, with Tiny accompanying them, they walked back and formed up in front of the senior chief. Brannigan turned from the officers and strangers, nodding to the detachment.

  Okay, guys, he said, pointing to three rows of chairs toward the back of the hangar. You know the drill.

  The SEALs walked over to sit down in the rows of chairs with the officers and visitors following. It was Commander Carey who went to the front of the group and took the floor. How many of you guys can ride horses? Everyone stared at him in perplexed confusion, and he repeated the question with a degree of peevishness. Damn it! I asked how many of you know how to ride a horse.

  Monty Sturgis, Tex Benson, Garth Redhawk, and Chad Murchison raised their hands.

  Brannigan chuckled. Hell! I didn't think any of 'em knew how.

  This complicates matters, Berringer muttered. There're only four.

  It can't be helped, Carey said.

  Bruno Puglisi, wanting to be helpful, held up his hand. I can handicap horses, sir. I used to go out to the racetrack with my uncle Vito all-a-time when I was a kid. I even hit a three-horse parlay when I was thirteen.

  Shut up, Puglisi, Brannigan said.

  Aye, sir!

  Okay, men, Carey said. If you haven't already guessed it, there is a mission in the offing. But before we get into that, let me introduce these gentlemen with me. The first is Lieutenant Barakaat Sidiqui. He is the captain of the Pakistani Army Polo Team.

  Sidiqui, a slim, handsome man with lively eyes and a neatly trimmed black beard, stepped forward and gave a snappy British-style salute.

  This young fellow, Carey said, pointing to a boy in his late teens dressed in bakesey Pashtun clothing, is Chinar Janoon. He will be your interpreter and guide.

  Chinar gave them a wide, pleased grin. How do you do, sirs? I am most pleased to be serving you.

  Now the two men in the khaki garb stepped forward, and Carey indicated the short, plump one. You may have seen this gentleman on television back in the States. His name is Dirk Wallenger and the guy with him is his cameraman, Eddie Krafton. They are from Global News Broadcasting and will be imbedded with you on this operation.

  Wow! Joe Miskoski exclaimed. Are we gonna be on television?

  Indeed you will, Wallenger said. I have requested to be assigned to a unit going on a special sort of mission. Permission was at last granted, so here I am complete with a cameraman.

  Welcome, Brannigan said. We hope for some evenhanded treatment in your broadcasts, Wallenger.

  I promise I'll tell your story to the American public as truthfully as I possibly can, Wallenger replied. He glanced over at Carey. By the way, I am considered a rather skillful horseman back home. And Eddie rides with me occasionally on weekends.

  You two are probably going to come in handy, Brannigan said good-naturedly. There're twenty out of twentyfour of us who will need some pretty basic instruction. But I believe we all know what a horse is.

  Wallenger showed a grin. That's a good start, I would think.

  Okay, Carey said. Tomorrow morning the whole bunch of us is going to fly over to Sharif Garrison in Pakistan where their army's polo team is stationed. That is where you'll begin your equestrian training.

  Puglisi was confused again. I thought we was gonna learn how to ride horses.

  Shut up, Puglisi!

  Aye, sir!

  Chapter 2

  SHARIF GARRISON, PAKISTAN

  4 OCTOBER

  1030 HOURS

  THE military post, built by the British Army in the 1880s, was located five kilometers south of Karachi on the coast of the Arabian Sea. It was not an important facility now as it had been during the days of Queen Victoria's reign. In modern times it was being used for extracurricular activities such as a beach resort for officers and their families, hostelry for important military visitors, and most important of all the stables and headquarters of the Pakistani Army's polo team. This sport was the most popular in the northern areas of the nation and was a traditional pastime that many believed dated back to pre-Christian times.

  Brannigan's Brigands, along with Wallenger, Krafton, and Chinar the interpreter, had been flown down from Shelor Field the previous evening, and after settling in, were fed a late dinner of fried paratha bread, marinated baked chicken, vegetables, and a traditional dessert of custard made of rice and milk. The meal
was consumed in the officers' mess without regard to rank, so that the officers, petty officers, and the three civilians all dined together. This broke with normal tradition, but the unexpected training mission had caught the garrison staff shorthanded.

  The next morning, after arising at 0630 hours, they were once again taken to the officers' dining facility to eat. This time they were served a Western-style breakfast of steak and eggs. This was followed by a tour of the garrison, conducted by Lieutenant Sidiqui, who pointed out several historical sites of the post. He also delivered a short lecture on the background of the area and its functions during the glory days of the British Empire. It had been an embarkation and debarkation site for troops going to and from colonial postings.

  After a visit to the garrison's small but impressive museum, the SEALs and their companions were bussed out to the stables to begin their lessons in the fine art of equitation, which Puglisi now knew meant horseback riding.

  The classroom was a modern chamber complete with tables and chairs, a combination DVD and VHS player, whiteboard, and small library with books, pamphlets, and magazines pertaining to horses and polo. Lieutenant Sidiqui waited while his students settled down at the tables. Each seating place had a notebook, a textbook regarding horses, and an array of ballpoint pens.

  Chief Petty Officer Matt Gunnarson, sitting with his good friend Senior Chief Petty Officer Buford Dawkins, leaned toward his companion. This Pakistani Army is gonna spoil us, Buford.

  Dawkins, looking around at the near-antiseptic learning environment, nodded in agreement. The ready room back on the Daly looks like a pigsty compared to this place.

  Sidiqui went to the front of the room and stood by the combo DVD and tape player. I welcome you to the training facilities of our army's champion polo team. We are most pleased to be able to help you prepare yourselves for your upcoming mission.

  Excuse me, sir, Monty Sturgis said, raising his hand. Are we gonna be riding polo ponies in the field?

  Oh, heavens, no! Sidiqui exclaimed with a laugh. We have other horses here at Sharif Garrison. There is a ceremonial cavalry troop stationed here that goes about the country giving riding demonstrations in the old traditions. They have an excellent stable of trained military mounts from which you will draw your animals.

  Chad Murchison had a question. Sir, I have ridden a great deal at several local stables back home and am familiar with show horses and polo ponies. What I would like to learn is the criteria for a cavalry mount. What does one look for in these famous and traditional warhorses?

  That is an excellent question, the Pakistani officer replied. And after I have explained it to you, you will appreciate more the horses you will take on your mission. He paused for a moment of thought, then said, A cavalry horse must be sound and gentle under the saddle. He must possess a prompt action at the walk, trot, and gallop. And, of course, be free of vicious habits.

  Tex Benson, who had done less-than-genteel horseback riding during his Texas youth, was also curious. What are them calvary horse supposed to look like?

  In the Pakistani Army we prefer geldings from fifteen to sixteen hands high, Sidiqui explained. They should not weigh less than nine hundred and fifty pounds or more than fifteen hundred. An age between four and eight years old is also preferable. As far as appearance goes, he should have a broad forehead with large eyes, shoulders sloping well back, a full, broad chest with forelegs straight and standing well under. He paused, then asked, Do you require more information?

  Benson shook his head. No, thanks, I was just looking for a casual description.

  What's a 'hand' when you talk about how high they gotta be? Gutsy Olson asked.

  A hand is four inches, Sidiqui replied. And the measurement is from the withers to the ground.

  Brannigan now spoke up. You'll have to excuse us, Lieutenant. Most of us are in complete ignorance about horses. What are the 'withers'?

  Oh, pardon me, please, the Pakistani said. The withers of a horse is where the back meets the neck. Thus, the average horse for military service would be five feet high from that point down to the ground. He looked around. If there are no more questions, we shall turn to the DVD player. You will see an introduction and description of the things you will learn during your training here. After this, we will have another question-and-answer period, then go to lunch. When you have eaten, you will be taken to the riding hall where you will be introduced to the horse that will be yours during your operation.

  .

  LOGOVISHCHYEH, TAJIKISTAN

  LUKA Yarkov and his gang of ex-military prisoners called their small village in the Kangal Mountains Logovishchyeh, which is Russian for lair. Logovishchyeh seemed a good name for the community since the men living there considered themselves beasts of prey. Their membership in that particular group was made known by the tattoos of a snarling wolf's head on their right deltoid muscles. It was during the dark days of their incarceration when the images were crudely imbedded under the skin by thousands of pinpricks from sewing needles after being drawn on with India ink. A couple of excellent artists among the gang did the illustrations, while the subject's buddies helped with the painful process of puncturing it into the skin. Any prisoner not a member of the gang that was discovered with the image engraved in his epidermis paid with his life for the affront. The corpse, with the tattoos sliced off and shoved into the victim's rectum, would be found in the morning by the guards.

  As trained soldiers, Yarkov and his men knew how to select a secure place to live that would be easy to defend from outside attacks. Logovishchyeh was within a rocky valley on the top of a peak. A narrow cut in the mountains served as an entrance and exit. Several vantage points offered excellent views down to the lower countryside.

  The dwellings in the hamlet were skillfully built by men who were the scions of countless generations who had lived through the most brutal winters on the surface of the earth. Logs were carefully chinked and stacked to form eight-foot-tall walls with openings for windows and front doors. Then a similar structure was built inside the first with five decimeters space between the two. This was then filled with packed earth to provide enough insulation to keep out even the bitterest of cold. It also served to maintain the domicile at relatively cool temperatures during the short warmer seasons. The roofs were arched with several layers of logs and earth to protect the inhabitants from above. A short hallway of five meters was built out from the entrance so that two doors could be installed as a buffer to keep frigid winds from entering during the comings and goings from the domicile. The windows were commercially available double-paned models, which, like the doors, had been ripped from the prison that once held the small community's inhabitants.

  A further enhancement of American Coleman generators provided electricity for the community. These were used mostly for refrigerators and freezers. Vehicles such as Toyota pickups, Volkswagen vans, and old military DAZ/GAZ utility cars were owned by the inhabitants. One five-ton ZIL157 Soviet Army truck was communal property for heavy hauling. Most of this transportation had been liberated from the prison.

  Now, after the passage of three years, the hodgepodge of log huts had evolved into a comfortable settlement. Several mountain springs furnished fresh water that flowed so rapidly it did not freeze even during the darkest times of the winter. Deer, wild goats and pigs, and other game were available for fresh meat. These sources of protein were supplemented with purchases of staples and vegetables in season in the shops of Dolirod.

  Between Logovishchyeh, Dolirod, and raids down on the Pranistay Steppes, life was pretty good for Luka Ivanovich Yarkov and his men. They had everything they needed: vodka, food, and women, along with assorted cash money.

  .

  SHARIF GARRISON, PAKISTAN

  RIDING HALL

  1300 HOURS

  AFTER the DVD presentation and lunch, the Brigands and their companions were taken to the riding hall to be introduced to their horses and the gear they would need to control and care for the animals.
Each mount was in a separate stall and, under Lieutenant Sidiqui's direction, the Brigands were assigned to an individual animal. The horse equipment had been neatly stacked just outside each location.

  Pete Dawson, checking on his horse, looked over in the next stall where Tiny Burke was carefully inspecting his own animal.

  Damn, Tiny! Dawson exclaimed, noting Tiny's large size. They should have given you one of them Budweiser Clydesdales.

  Somebody down the line yelled out, They're gonna have to put that poor horse on extry rations.

  The senior chief, irritated by the gab, bellowed for the Brigands to shut up and give their full attention to their mounts.

  A couple of minutes later, Lieutenant Sidiqui decided it was time to begin the afternoon's routine. You will note a piece of paper on top of the equipment. Please to pick it up and read it.